Twilight of the Ballerina
by Southern Magnolia
Summary: Isabella Swan is a promising young ballet dancer in 1940s New York - but with no means to be properly taught or noticed. Change comes in the form of Edward Masen promising to make her dreams come true for eternity. But who will save her from herself?


_Edward Masen_

_New York City, New York_

_1931_

I'd become a monster. I tried to convince myself again and again that my murdering these people was justified. For the greater good. Because I could see the evil that lived in their minds. The harm that they intended to inflict on good, innocent people. Watching their foul deeds run around in their heads as they waited for the opportune moment to strike was enough to make most the hardened men sick to their stomach.

I tried to make myself see the lives I was saving. Tried to convince myself that I was giving them an opportunity to go on to do something good with their lives. To do something good for the world. I began to follow some of them, track their movements. In the end, I found that every single one of them was too wrapped up in their own world. Out for themselves, sometimes perhaps there was someone close to them. But always little to no concern in anything in the world that was not their own.

I stopped following them after the first few months.

Tried to ignore the nagging in the back of my mind.

My first target had been Charles Evenson, Esme's husband.

Revenge.

From the beginning, petty vengeance had driven me. At least with Evenson, it had been for someone I knew truly had been treated badly, deserved to have someone look out for her.

But I couldn't see that anyone I had preemptively avenged had even a part of the goodness or decency of Carlise's wife.

All I could see was the look in the eyes of my victims. The sheer terror. Pain. Fear of a monster.

All I could hear were their thoughts. Screaming out louder than even their voices could carry. Regret. Pain. Sometimes even sorrow. What they themselves were leaving behind.

The world wasn't as black and white as I had once thought it to be. As I hoped it could be.

In the end, I could see myself for what I was. Deranged. Thinking I could act as some vigilante.

My world was no longer black and white, but shades of gray – patched together haphazardly of all the ideals I still tried to believe, the ideals Carlisle tried to instill in me, the hard truths I was learning about the world, about myself. And all through the seams seeped vibrant, ugly red.

Blood covered even the small pleasures I tried to seek out in life. Filled my vision, my thoughts, my sense of smell, my throat.

There were times I would stop breathing just for imagining myself drowning in endless oceans of blood.

And I couldn't even forget the names, the faces, the thoughts of those whose blood filled those oceans.

I'd just been gone three years, but at that first killing, there had been enough filth on my hands to make me feel as if a thousand lifetimes of doing good could not possibly atone for what I'd done. What I'd become.

A creature purely driven by blood lust, with deluded visions of trying to point my destructive tendencies in the 'right' direction.

Now, knowing what I'd done, I wasn't even sure that Carlisle would have me back. But it was the only thing I could think to do. I had no hope for ever making 'right' all the wrong I'd done, but at least the life he offered was free of the screams and cries as my victims plead for their lives.

I was walking down the sidewalk, head bowed as I desperately tried to ignore the influx of thoughts that rushed in from all around – people that drove past in cars or buggies, the people walking past me, the people in the buildings... it was all harder to block out when I was feeling emotional.

But I froze suddenly, so fast that a man walking behind me crashed into my back, cursing as he climbed to his feet and glared at me before moving on.

I tensed, disgusted with myself. Always the same.

Blood.

But this blood in particular, I knew, was different. Not animal, to me it didn't even seem human. I grit my teeth and swallowed hard, grimacing.

My feet moved toward it, instinct ruling my mind as I sought it out.

The voices in my head faded, the few that remained becoming quite distinct.

I warred with myself, trying to reign in the desire. The will to hunt.

There were three voices.

And all of a sudden, curiosity slammed the door on my hunting instincts.

I left the ground, taking to the rooftops easily.

Three voices. One a gruff, older male. The second, the disgusting thoughts dancing in his head. The third, that of a young girl quietly whimpering and pleading. But there was no fourth voice. Her thoughts seemed mute to me.

As I came upon the scene, I realized with a sickening certainty that the blood that called to me, that sang so beautifully to all my senses was hers.

Curiosity won again.

I dropped, swept the man away from the girl. Ended him with the simplest flick of my wrists to break his neck. Let him drop from the side of a building into an alley a few blocks from where I'd found him.

Then I went back. The girl was trembling, seated in the space between a dumpster and a wall until she saw me approaching. Her shaking ceased, and she took the hand that I offered.

"You're cold!" She proclaimed, taking my larger hand into both her small ones as she examined it curiously. I slowly crouched down to take stock of her state as she curiously examined my hand.

She couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old, and was dressed only in a ballet leotard and classical tutu that fell to just above her knees, a pair of boots on her feet.. Her dark brown hair had been put neatly into a bun at one time, but now various locks fell loose about her dirt-smudged face, and there were light tears in the pale blue fabric of her outfit.

I was startled out of my reverie as I noticed warmth against my cheek, and she jerked her hand away, only returning it when I made my face form to something softer in expression. I made myself bite back everything I wanted to ask her as she continued her exploration, running her little fingers over my cheeks and chin, over the bridge of my nose and forehead. Lightly touching my eyelids as I permitted my eyes to close just for that purpose.

All the while, I was intensely aware of her steady heartbeat. The calm pulse I could feel where her other hand still rested in mine.

Finally, she pulled her hand away and I opened my eyes to find her smiling sweetly at me.

"Are you alright?" I finally asked, trying to keep the inexplicable panic out of my voice.

"Mm-hm!" She answered with a nod of her head.

"That man didn't hurt you?"

She started to shake her head, paused, then nodded. Lifting her arm, she showed me a scrape over her elbow.

"What happened?"

"I kicked him," she said, wide-eyed and serious. "And I went to climb up the ladder." She turned to point at the fire escape ladder. "But he pulled me down, and it hurt my elbow when I fell, and my back."

"Your back?"

"Mm-hm." She turned about so her back was to me, and I could plainly see the heavy splotches of dirt over her back and slight tears of the fabric, but the damage didn't go deeply enough to threaten any worse than a few bruises.

"You know, you were very brave to try and run away."

"I know..." She looked down and shuffled her feet. "But I'm not even s'posed to be out..." She sniffled. "And he took me away from my marks, so I don't know how to get back."

"Marks?"

"Marks. How I know how to get home from Mrs. Perkins's."

"Oh, landmarks."

She nodded again.

"Well, tell you what. I will help get you home and cleaned up, okay angel?"

She giggled.

"What's funny?"

"You called me angel."

I quirked an eyebrow. It was a common enough nickname. "Why is calling you angel funny?"

"Because you're the angel!"

I stared openly at her as she just smiled brilliantly up at me. "You think I'm an angel?"

"Mm-hm! You are an angel. You made the man go away, and you're pretty... and your skin is cold, like you've been up really, really high in the sky. It gets colder up there!"

I breathed out heavily before I rose to my feet. What was I going to do, argue with a little ballerina girl that her 'angel' was a vicious, bloodthirsty monster?

I held out my hand, and she took it without hesitation, allowing me to lead her out of the alley.

"Oh, wait! My slippers! I dropped them when he got me!"

I bit back the urge to sigh, but began to follow the faint hint of her scent in the air, tracing it back to where a little pair of worn, pale pink ballet slippers that she eagerly scooped up and hugged close to her body.

"Thank you!" She beamed up at me, and I found that I couldn't help but return the smile.

It felt a little strange. I could barely remember the last time I'd worn a real smile, the memories seemed dull in comparison to the memories I'd formed in this new life.

I wordlessly lead her in back in the direction that her scent seemed strongest, listening in silence as she hummed through various musical scores – all from different ballets. It was almost soothing, enthralling to hear such passion coming from someone so little.

We came to a stop outside a building. "Trust me?"

"Yup!" She replied, no sense of hesitation in her voice.

I leaned down to pull her up into my arms and swiftly leaped into the air, bounding off a fire escape off the opposite building before settling on one of the intended building. I set her down briefly, just to move from the fire escape to the window next it and push it open before I went back for her, leaping smoothly in through the opening.

As I sat her down, she giggled up at me. "You fly funny."

I could only smile wryly before she put a finger to her lips. She tucked her slippers away neatly on a shelf and slid out of her boots and sat them inside her closet before she opened the door to her bedroom, peaked outside, then slipped out. I could hear the faint sound of water running for a few minutes, then her speaking with a young female before I heard her little feet padding back down the hall.

She slipped back inside, carefully holding a glass of milk and a plate with a sandwich on it. I took them from her as she hopped up onto her bed and sat with her legs crossed.

"Is that your big sister?"

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Nope. That's Amber, my baby-sitter."

"She didn't realize you were gone too long for your lesson?"

She ducked her head and blushed guiltily, focusing on the sandwich in her hands. "She never notices..."

"... You sneak out for your lessons?"

"Uh-huh..." She sighed, picking at her sandwich. "Mrs. Perkins was my teacher when I could take classes, but since Mommy left, Daddy has to use the class money for Amber... But Mrs. Perkins still teaches me a little some days, and I help clean the room other days, since I don't have class money."

I smiled and handed her her milk as she say her sandwich down. She took it and stared down at it, shifting uncomfortably.

"Are you mad at me?"

I blinked. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Well, 'cause... 'cause you're an angel, and I sneak out on Amber, and I lie to my Daddy... and Mrs. Perkins. She's nice to me, but I lie because she thinks Daddy knows about her teaching me..."

"No, I'm not mad, honey. It must be very important to you, for you to go to all that trouble."

"Uh-huh... My Mommy used to be a ballerina too, and she used to take me to all my classes and help me practice and sew my costumes... And I don't wanna give it up, cause I like it... and because it reminds me of Mommy. Like she's still here."

"If it's important, you shouldn't give it up. But how about I walk you there and back home every day, okay?"

Her face lit up as she nodded eagerly and dug back into her sandwich, but then she looked back up at me thoughtfully. "Aren't angels too busy to do stuff like that?"

I smiled wryly and shook my head. "I suppose angels are. But I'm not."

She seemed to ponder this for a moment, but then nodded her head and turned her attention back to finishing her meal as I simply watched. Wondering what the hell I was thinking. Just an hour ago, I'd been on my way out of this city. Eager to put it and its myriad of voices and smells behind. But now I was plotting my days here out in my head. Scheduling out when I would be able to leave the city to hunt.

There no longer remained a question in my mind about whether I would be able to restrain myself from hunting humans. As disgusted with myself as I had been, thinking of how painfully aware I was that this little girl was my singer took away all the questions and doubt. I knew it would be a struggle every day. But I didn't question for a moment that protecting her was worthwhile. I couldn't read her mind, and knowing myself, I would slowly be driven mad.

However, in the days and weeks that followed, I found that I needn't have worried. Bella, I discovered, was an open book. Anything I could ever have possibly wanted to know about her, she offered up in conversation when I would sit with her at night after her lessons. When time for school came, her father would take her each morning, and then I would wait with her as she waited for Amber to show up to walk her home. I tolerated her shallow thoughts and the rolling of her eyes as Bella would go on about school and 'her angel' for about two weeks.

The following Monday, I stayed longer than I would have normally, and allowed her to see me. I'd grown used to the affect I had on people, but I had to smile as I heard Bella giggling behind me as I stood to greet Amber for the first time and she stuttered through introducing herself.

"Amber, this is my angel!"

"Oh! I, uhm... so you're the one she's been going on about, huh?"

"Seems so."

"Oh, uhm... so... so how long have you known Bella?"

"A while," I replied simply, giving away nothing.

"Er... right. So. I should probably get her home, uhm...?"

"Edward," I supplied.

"Edward."

"Angels have names?" Bella looked up at me, wide-eyed with surprise.

"This one does," I replied with a chuckle.

"How come you never told me?"

"You never asked." I ruffled her hair as she stuck her tongue out up at me.

Life went on like that for the next couple years. I'd wait with Bella every day after school and walk part of the way with them back to the apartment before I'd veer off. Amber assumed it was to go home myself, and I think Bella always thought I had other people I was watching over as well. I'd use the time to write letters to Carlisle and Esme. I learned in early 1933 that they were coming to New York, though they promised to stay further upstate. After a couple of months, however, I simply invited them down.

Bella was immediately brightened at the idea of getting to meet even more 'angels', and utterly enthralled with how beautiful Esme was. But it took a quiet, but pointed thought that summer from Carlisle for me to really step back and look at things. She was about to turn eleven, and all the girls her age were out having sleep-overs and going to the pool, and she spent all her spare time outside of her lessons with her 'angel'.

It felt like the hardest thing I had had to do, up until that point, to tell her I had to go away. All the reasons in the world just didn't seem to get through, so by the time I slipped out the window, she was probably more mad than upset. I tried to make it up for her in the only way I had left – I went to see Mrs. Perkins and paid her enough to cover for Bella to continue lessons with her for years. I explained what had been going on in Bella's life, but she agreed to keep it quiet and contact her father and say an anonymous person had seen Bella dance in a recital years ago, and recently discovered she was no longer in classes.

After that, I left with Carlisle and Esme and returned to where they had been staying in Rochester. A couple of months later, Carlisle brought in a girl named Rosalie. His and Esme's thoughts were obviously eager that she would become my mate, but I felt nothing for her. Her thoughts were shallow and entirely self-involved. I couldn't help but step even further away when I could see that despite her disgust at her new life, she felt no remorse at the lives she had taken. I could see where the men deserved to be punished – put to death, even. I could still look back at the lives I had taken and see the same thing, but I could see that it wasn't the place of a single individual to decide that.

We left New York shortly after and settled in Tennessee. A couple years, and Rosalie came running home with a man that had been mauled by a bear, asking Carlisle to change him. It was the first time I really saw any redeeming qualities about Rosalie, to watch and hear how desperate she was to keep him with her. Worried at her own selfishness, but unable to see herself doing anything else.

Emmett was undoubtedly more wild and harder to control than the rest of us. So there were no questions about going back to New York any time soon. But I found I actually enjoyed his company, it felt like having a brother around. And there was a certain purity to his thoughts, a simplicity. I found I hung around him more and more because it was easier to be around than Carlisle and Esme's constant fretting over me, or Rosalie's self-absorbed manner.

A couple years later, for the first time we settled somewhere and began to attend school in Duluth, Minnesota. We knew there were far more options further east, but I knew if I got any closer, I'd likely give in to go check in on Bella, and wind up wanting to stay. And she deserved a chance a normal life, so I had to give that to her. Even if that meant keeping myself out of her life.

Some part of me felt that if I would ever find a road to redemption, it would be through Bella. I couldn't read her thoughts, but there was a goodness and purity that just radiated from her. I was aware that all kids at that age had some level of that. But there just seemed to be no end to it, when it came to her. Everything in life was tackled with the same energy and zeal. School, lessons, even the days when she helped clean the studio to pay for those lessons. Other little girls seemed content to take their lessons and perform because it just came easy to them, or because it was something their parents could afford and pushed them to do. Bella was willing to fight for it and take on more than even some adults would to be able to stick with it.

She was filled with more passion for this single pursuit in her life than I think I had ever observed in any person before.

With everything in me, I knew that Isabella Swan would make a beautiful ballerina. And I would do whatever it took to help her succeed at that dream. Even if I had to do it from afar.


End file.
